Temptation – Devika Mathur

I know the formations when I had your face close to my lips. voids went flickering with aerospace dissolved in the hymns of my carrot eyes I tore up the blatant sky that rummage your body and your smell, for I sleep with my eyes dipped in your presence. Soft balls of cotton inside thundering… Continue reading Temptation – Devika Mathur

Oranges

There is a way to eat fruits. The bites, cuts, peeling discloses a lot about the process, about manifestations, prayers. The layers are a cryptic code, defining a particular gender. What do you name Oranges? A blossom of Goddess or the sweat of a man? The tender skin hides the juices of fervor and desires… Continue reading Oranges

A prayer to hope

Cities left like empty vases, soundless minds, a spot once full looks ghastly. Run, run, run to the places unknown hiding beneath the carcass of nature, Sit, observe and run to the places that are quiet now. Learn from the two-fold mystery of God, they do it like a yard spinning. Do not fear, this… Continue reading A prayer to hope

How bad is my poetry?

I do not write today to hold the things leaking or to slip across the rooms with fever. No. I do not write to mourn the sunburn of humankind, the lips are already pale, i do not wish to write another metaphor too. Things that have way, will escape anyhow and so is my today’s… Continue reading How bad is my poetry?

Through the Front Door by Devika Mathur (MY FRONT DOOR Series)

Originally posted on Silver Birch Press:
Through the Front Door by Devika Mathur I have a wooden structure that looks after me, a thick shield of elastic worries, a poet’s mind locked inside the carving, I often stare at my front door with a madness slapping across the air, the room stands empty with a…

The face of a woman

I imagine the day like a face of a woman, the mornings so much defined with exposures and brightness, polaroids of crimson sky and the heaviness comes like her mind, i can paint this lady on my canvas, yawns in the afternoons, doping shadows watching the food vividly left in the kitchen she knows nobody… Continue reading The face of a woman

The Awakening

Tablecloth, wet bedsheets, branches/ twigs entangled between the phosphorous skin of ours. Circles of slow breaths sighs, deeper of magenta blush The months become cold. almost nostalgic, fever rushing through veins & chills of hypnosis against the walls, on the kitchen slab we spread our colours while the black night absorbs our love through the… Continue reading The Awakening

April

And just like that between the chorus of the bruised sky, I slip my set of auburn love. Sediments of galaxies and rivers entwined between my outgrown fingers. Seduction is a way of swimming across your mind, half awake. These tall trees perform tensions, fiction, crickets squeaking, and a layer of loneliness shifts to the… Continue reading April

Of Sickness

of moment so despair a thing i learn about a crooked poetry my face a sudden elastic string. Of death these moments stich a corollary upon my backbone, stripes so painfully black. an ache to put metaphors with, Madness unleashed from the boundaries of my skull red, uneven, scathed, women in my room speak of… Continue reading Of Sickness